


The Education of Peter Parker

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), spideypool - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Hand Jobs, If You Don't Like Minor Peter Please Don't Read, Lust to love, M/M, Minor Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson Smut, Peter is sixteen, Pre-Scars Wade, Shower Sex, Showers, Teacher Harry, Teacher-Student Relationship, Virgin Peter, Wade Is Somewhat Morally Dubious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16923975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: Wade is a high-school History teacher, Peter is an under-performing student. Wade offers extra lessons, but is there more to his plan than simply improving his student's grades?Teacher/student AU, lots of smut, barrels of fun, featuring art by the indescribably talented ShadowofWolf200 (mikazure on Tumblr).





	The Education of Peter Parker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikazure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/gifts).



> This fic started as an idea by the fabulous and beautifully artistic ShadowofWolf200. Check out her amazing art on Tumblr and Twitter:
> 
> https://mikazure.tumblr.com/  
> https://mikazure-art.tumblr.com/  
> https://twitter.com/mikazure 
> 
> This one's for you, my darling friend and Internet bestie <3<3

 

 

Wade Wilson had taught many students over the years – each semester’s teenagers coming and going without so much as a blip on his radar – but there was something different about Parker.

  The kid was a natural scientist and mathematician; brilliant and methodical, with an unparalleled memory for numbers and formulas. He excelled in Spanish, Computer Science and Metalwork, able to construct impressive gadgets and models out of even the simplest materials. He was also highly adept in Gym, despite his skinny frame, and could even play a mean clarinet in Band. He muddled through fine in Literature and Art, Geography and Poli-Sci. He was passable in History, Wade’s own subject. He was popular amongst his friends – few that there were – and was victim to the typical brand of bullying one might expect of someone so steeped in geek culture.

  Nothing truly out of the ordinary – Wade had seen it a dozen times. But the students who had passed through before failed in one aspect that Parker exceeded in above all others:

  He was the cutest fucking thing Wade had ever seen.

  He didn’t need telling that it was unethical, immoral, not to mention illegal, to lust after a sixteen-year-old boy, especially one under his tutelage, but the sight of that willowy body and pretty-as-sin face blasted all guilt from his conscience. Parker was, in a word, innocent. He had a sweet, unassuming range of expressions (the way his eyebrows knitted when he was confused or flustered was cuter than Wade could handle), soft brown hair that curled slightly at the ends, and an ass so perfect it deserved its own place in the MoMA.

  Whoever said that teachers shouldn’t have favourites had clearly never this kind of shit to deal with.

  For the first academic year, he had tried to deny his attraction to such an unattainable object by the best way he knew – complete and utter emotional repression. He’d scarcely glanced in Parker’s direction during class, speaking his name aloud only during homeroom attendance, then jerking off at home ‘til his dick felt ready to fall off. That was until the last day of the previous semester – the day before the kids left for summer vacation. By that time, he was sick of the place as they were, desperate for a few lie-ins and entire days spent watching old reruns in his pajamas with a bucket of fried chicken or a greasy takeout. When the final bell sang through the building, the students had swarmed out the door without a backward glance at their long-suffering tutor. All except Parker. He hadn’t said a word but, pausing in front of Wade’s desk, he’d placed something small and silver in front of him, before smiling sweetly and following his classmates from the room. Wade had watched him go, his eyes fixed firmly on the ass he wouldn’t see for another two months. Only when he was gone had he looked down at the object.

  It was a length of silver metal wire, carefully bent and shaped into the outline of an apple, complete with stalk and leaf at the top. Wade’s mind – sparkling with wonder at this unexpected gift – cast back to when they’d been discussing 19th century education, and he’d mentioned that students would give their teachers apples as a token of appreciation. Parker had been doodling some kind of mechanical contraption in his workbook that day (he remembered because he’d been wearing a new grey sweater that hugged the outline of his waist perfectly), and Wade had assumed he wasn’t really paying attention. He’d been wrong.

  That evening, he’d found the chain that had once held his dog tags – long since lost in the chaos of his apartment – and threaded the apple onto it through the leaf. He hadn’t been able to stop reaching up and touching his fingers to the metal for days afterwards, just to remind himself that it was real.

  That was when his resolve broke like a china teacup under a sledgehammer and he knew there was nothing for it – he had to have Parker. He didn’t care if he lost his job, his reputation (what little there was of it), or any lingering self-respect he may have had. If he didn’t get his hands on that sexy little fucker, he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

  The first day of Parker’s sophomore year, he’d made sure the apple was visible around his neck and enjoyed the look of surprise on the kid’s face when he noticed it immensely. He went through the usual motions of welcoming the kids back to their hellish prison for another year, and just as the morning bell sounded, spoke up over the general hubbub:

  “Mr. Parker – a word, please.”

  Confused (that adorable little eyebrow knit again), Parker told his wingman – Ned Leeds – that he’d see him in Spanish class and made his way obediently up to Wade’s desk. Wade flexed his fingers against the table, rolling the words he’d practiced in his head to the tip of his tongue.

  “I’ll be late for class, sir,” Parker said, his bright brown eyes wide and naively inquisitive. Wade enjoyed a mental image of him on his knees, leather collar round his slender neck, the end of a leash clutched in Wade’s fist, gasping as he called him ‘sir’. One of the perks of the job.

  “I’ll explain to Señor Melero,” Wade waved away the boy’s concerns and gestured to the chair in front of him. “Sit down.”

  It was difficult feeling envious of a chair when Parker rested his sweet little keister on it and looked at him expectantly.

  “I was going over some essays from last year,” Wade lied, pulling out the sheaves of paper he’d carefully selected from the basement files. “And I’m a little concerned by your quality of work.”

  Parker blinked. “But. . . sir, I passed with 80% on the last paper. You gave me B-minus.”

  “I know,” Wade leaned back in his chair, pretending to appraise the boy sitting before him, when in truth he was envisioning pulling each item of clothing off with his teeth, “but you can do better. You’re working at a minimum of 92% in all your other classes – what is it about mine that’s different?”

  Parker shrugged. “I guess I have trouble remembering dates sometimes, but I didn’t think it was that bad. . .”

  “You’re one of the brightest students here, Parker, with a bright future,” Wade said. He longed to call him by his first name, but felt it might be weird after a full year of formality. Maybe if he got his dick inside him it might feel more appropriate. “I can see you being accepted to any college you set your heart on, but only if you apply yourself properly, and college professors don’t accept slackers. It would be a shame for you to finish this year with less than your best achieved. Again.”

  He let doom settle on the last word, as though Parker was in danger of being expelled simply for forgetting when the Spanish-American War began. Parker started to look a little panicked.

  “What can I do?”

  He’d taken the bait, now Wade just had to reel him in.

  “I suggest you submit to some serious tutoring,” he said, the thought of Parker and ‘submit’ in the same sentence tasting like honey in his mouth. “I’m willing to give up a couple of evenings a week to help you in any way I can.”

  He was good at acting the martyr – surely Gandhi himself couldn’t have come across as more selfless.

  Peter leaned forward in his seat. “I’d really appreciate that, sir. Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Parker. I’ll see you tomorrow, after final bell. Run along to class, now.”

  “Sure,” Parker sprang to his feet and hastened from the room, stopping at the door to smile back at his new puppet master. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome,” Wade nodded soberly, his fingers steepled like an old English professor. Once the boy was gone, he gave a Cheshire grin to the empty room, sin and desire boiling in his mind like tar.

 

*

 

 “Hey, Wilson, get your ass in gear.”

  Wade looked up at the sound of his colleague’s cranky tones.

  “Not tonight, darling, I have a headache,” he said, grinning at the cranky gym teacher glowering at him from the doorway, already suited in his bike leathers.

  Nathan Summers (Cable to his older friends, though nobody was sure how that nickname had been born) rolled his eyes. Since Wade didn’t have a car, he’d been giving him a lift to and from work for the past couple of years. It wasn’t a bad deal – it certainly beat walking and gave Wade the chance to hold onto a well-built guy for ten minutes every day.

  “You coming or not?”

  Wade waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, gotta give one of my brats some extra help.”

  “Which one?”

  “Parker.”

  “Peter Parker?” Cable looked surprised – or as surprised as his perpetually gruff expression would allow. “Wouldn’t’ve thought he’d need much tutoring – he’s in the top percentage in his year.”

  “Anything not perfection can always be improved upon,” Wade said sagely. “I’m just giving the kid his best shot.”

  “Aren’t you just Mr. Big Heart?” Cable said dryly, shifting the motorcycle helmet under his arm. “Don’t hold him back too late. You can’t keep them past four, you know.”

  “Thanks, Mean Girls,” he gave a cheery wave and listened to Cable’s heavy-booted footsteps echo down the hallway. He sat back in his chair, contemplating his various plans to ensnare his unsuspecting prey. If Parker reacted with immediate hostility to his initial advances, he’d back down and try again another day. He didn’t want to muddy the waters before he’d even dipped a toe in. He ran a finger round the outline of his pendant – his touchstone – and almost didn’t hear the frantic footsteps approaching the door.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mr. Wilson,” Parker clattered into the room, out of breath.

  “That’s alright, Mr. Parker. Shut the door and take a seat.”

  “Please, sir,” he looked a little embarrassed. “Can you call me Peter? ‘Mr. Parker’ sounds . . . weird.” He gave a little laugh and Wade swallowed the immediate urge to stick his tongue down his throat.

  “Sure,” Wade smiled what he hoped wasn’t a wolf’s grin. “Sit down, Peter.” The word was like melted chocolate on his tongue.

  Parker – Peter – hastily occupied one of the front desks and pulled out his workbook and a pencil. He was so eager to please, it was beyond adorable.

  Right, time to start the charade.

  “So,” Wade drew a timeline across the whiteboard and wrote June 28th, 1914 at one end, “since we’re going to be continuing our work on World War 1 this semester, can you tell me as many important dates between the start and end as you can remember?”

  Peter glanced down at the notes scrawled in his book. Wade picked up a long wooden ruler from his desk and smacked it on the page, wickedly relishing Peter’s jump of surprise. 

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he said. “From memory.”

  Peter’s eyes widened and pressed his lips together in thought. “Uhh . . . well, June 28th was the beginning, when Franz Ferdinand got shot.”

  “Good,” Wade wrote these words down at the beginning of the line. “And who was he?”

  “The Duke of . . . Austria?”

  “Archduke,” Wade said, trying to sound disappointed.

  “Sorry,” Peter winced, “ _Arch_ duke of Austria.”

  “And where was he shot?”

  “In the head?”

  Wade paused, trying to figure out if he was being deliberately cheeky. The look of innocence on the kid’s face persuaded him otherwise. He grinned.

  “In the neck, actually, but I meant in what city?”

  “Oh! Sorry, sir. Um . . .” Wade watched him struggle for a moment, before his eyes slowly slid down to the page beneath his hand. He slapped the ruler on the desk again, this time catching the top of Peter’s fingers. The boy flinched, and Wade felt momentarily bad – he hadn’t meant to hit him – but the look of shock on his face was undeniably interesting.

  “What did I say?” he said in a low voice. He knew with his towering height and muscled physique (a habit sustained from his military years), he could be more than a little intimidating when he wanted to be.

  “I’m s-sorry, sir,” Peter’s forehead began to shine a little with nervous sweat. “I know it was in Bosnia, but I can’t remember the city.”

  “This is what I’m talking about, Peter,” Wade said. He leaned down and rested his knuckles on the desk, tensing the muscles in his forearms. “You have to know this if you wanna beat that B-minus.”

  “Dubrovnik?” Peter guessed wildly.

  Wade smirked. “That’s in Croatia.”

  Decided to take the plunge, he lifted the ruler and pressed it lightly to the underside of Peter’s chin, shifting the angle of his neck a fraction. Peter’s slim chest rose and fell a little faster, but he didn’t resist.

  “Try again.”

  Peter swallowed, his eyes following the length of Wade’s arm up to his face.

  “Subotica.”

  There was no question mark at the end of the name, and Wade was struck by a curious notion – Peter knew it was the wrong answer. This defiance gave him the assurance to proceed.

  “Incorrect,” he tapped the ruler against Peter’s skin. “Again.”

  Peter’s eyes were a delectable blend of confusion and obstinance. He’d obviously never had such a thing happen to him before, especially not by a teacher, but Wade flattered himself that maybe some part of him was enjoying it. Could he dare to hope for that much?

  “Mostar.”

  The kid certainly knew his European cities, Wade would give him that. Removing the ruler, he took Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, allowing his other hand to fall on his skinny wrist. The boy didn’t move.

  “I think you’re being deliberately insolent, Peter,” Wade said, his voice dropping even deeper.

  Peter shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Quiet,” Wade stood up straight. “Stand up.”

  Peter still didn’t move. He stared directly into Wade’s face, a flame of rebelliousness that Wade had never seen before flickering in his dark eyes.

  “Tuzla.”

  _This gorgeous little shit is playing with me_ , Wade thought. The idea both excited and frustrated him – he couldn’t afford for Peter to hold all the cards when there was only so much bluffing he could do.

  “Enough,” he strolled briskly to the door and locked it, pulling down the blind that masked the window. Peter was watching him with apprehension, like he was starting to worry he’d taken the joke too far.

  “Sir—”

  “I said quiet,” Wade picked up the ruler and pointed at his desk with it. “Over.”

  “W-what?”

  “You heard me, Mr. Parker,” Wade said, steel glinting in his eyes. “You’ve been wilfully disobedient, and I’ve got no choice but to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Peter got unsteadily to his feet but didn’t move from behind the safety of his desk. “Please, sir . . .”

  “Please what?”

  “Please . . . don’t be too hard on me . . .”

  Fireworks of excitement exploded inside Wade’s brain. Marching forward two paces, he took hold of Peter’s upper arm and dragged him out, forcing him over the large desk so the seat of his pants was facing the empty classroom. Wade ran a hand down the boy’s back, stopping at the top of his coccyx. He pulled aside the stray curls at Peter’s temple and murmured into his ear, feeling a shiver pass down his spine.

  “Do you know what bad boys get, Peter?” Wade drew back and raised his arm. He brought the ruler down against Peter’s backside, relishing in the jerk of Peter’s response, though he’d not hit enough for it to truly hurt. “Tell me,” he demanded, smacking the boy again. “What do bad boys get?”

  “They—” Peter gasped, his hands clasped over the edge of the desk, hair falling into his eyes. “They get punished, sir . . .”

  “Good,” Wade gave Peter’s ass one more smack. “Now, what was the city’s name?”

  Peter paused for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He looked over his shoulder and said, with total innocence: “Zenica.”

  Wade frowned. “You haven’t learned your lesson. Lower your pants.”

  Peter moved as if to stand but froze halfway up, staring at Wade as thought to gauge the sincerity in his request. Slowly, he undid the button of his jeans and lowered the zip, pushing them down over his hips, where they fell to rest around his knees. Underneath, he was wearing plaid boxer shorts. Wade decided he wouldn’t make him remove those – it was still too early in the game, and besides, he was already having so much fun.

  Wade lifted the ruler and smacked Peter’s ass, harder this time, and the boy yelped. He paused, his more sensitive side worrying if he’d actually hurt him, but Peter didn’t make any further protests, so he did it again. And again. And again. Setting his implement of discipline down on the desk, he leaned over Peter’s slender body and slid a large hand beneath his stomach until it reached the waistband of his boxers. Pushing past, he followed the trail of sparse hair to the boy’s cock. It wasn’t completely hard, but a respectable semi was certainly present, which encouraged him. Gently, like petting a flighty animal, he stroked the length, his palm cradling the underside. Peter began to breathe faster, almost panting, tiny mews of pleasure escaping his lips.

  “I don’t want to have to punish you, Peter,” Wade whispered. “So, are you going to be a good boy?”

  Peter gasped and pushed backwards, pressing his body against Wade’s chest, the back of his head nestling into the nape of the older man’s neck. Wade breathed in the delicious scent of his hair, pressing featherlight kisses to the side of his temple.

  “Sir . . .” Peter breathed. The divine ecstasy in his voice was almost enough to make Wade cum in his pants then and there, but he held back. He’d gotten this far, and he didn’t want to scare the kid off so early, not when all was going so beautifully – better than he could have dreamed. He tightened his grip slightly on Peter’s cock, quickening the pace of his wrist, his other hand migrating across the boy’s back to cup the soft swell of his ass cheek, rubbing and squeezing against the spot he’d been spanking. Peter was getting harder with every stroke, his entire body quivering and squirming against the desk as he neared release. But Wade wasn’t done quite yet.

  “Give me the answer, Peter,” he growled, nipping the lobe of Peter’s ear delicately between his teeth. “Get it right and you get a gold star.”

  Peter laughed breathlessly. His hips were driving into the desk, into Wade’s hand, begging for more – more friction, more of Wade’s touch.

  “Sa . . .” he huffed, “Sarajevo!”

  Wade pressed his whole body against Peter’s, removing his hand from his ass and gripping tightly to his wrist, linking their fingers together. He showered real, earnest kisses against the side of Peter’s face, not quite in the position to reach his mouth, but that was fine. He wanted to save Peter’s first kiss, to savour it. He rolled his hips against Peter’s ass, his own rock-hard erection driving against the boy’s hole, teasing, unable to breech it through the cotton.  

  “That’s it,” he coaxed as he felt Peter’s body gearing up for release. “Come on, baby. You’ve been a good boy, now cum for me.”

  Peter came with a ragged cry of pure ecstasy, his cock pulsating in Wade’s hand as he shot his load, wet and deliciously warm, into his palm. Wade’s own orgasm racked through his body, down to the tip of his toes like waves of electricity, lighting him up from the inside and making him feel more alive than he had in years. He lay against this boy – _his_ perfect, beautiful boy – who had already enslaved him, body and mind, without understanding so much as a fragment of the power he wielded over a man such as Wade.

  It was more than a minute before Peter finally spoke, his voice returning to some of its usual levity.

  “Same time on Thursday, sir?”

 

*

 

As soon as Peter made it over the threshold of his bedroom, he slammed the door and locked it, thanking his stars that May was working the late shift. He dropped his backpack to the floor and sagged against the wood, clasping his still-shaking hands over his mouth to hold back the shriek of tremulous delight and disbelief that was threatening to burst out of him. It seemed such an alien concept that what had just happened hadn’t been another of his more intense daydreams, but he knew even his imagination wasn’t _that_ vivid. There’s no way he could have summoned those feelings – the thrill, the sheer, unbridled _bliss_ – out of his own mind. They were too new, too unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

  It was certainly no revelation – least of all to himself – that he’d nursed half-baked fantasies about Mr. Wilson since he’d first started high school. With his handsome face, captivating dark eyes, mouth-watering muscle definition, and the ease with which he carried himself, he was just naturally, effortlessly _cool_. He stood out in a way other men didn’t. MJ had teased him mercilessly for this crush on their teacher, someone so much older than they were – more than double Peter’s own age – but it had been a small price to pay. He’d known he had nothing to offer Mr. Wilson – he was too young, too inexperienced, too ordinary – but that knowledge had just been blasted to pieces. While the thought that his less-than-ideal History grade would affect his college applications was a genuine worry for him, he’d been eager to spend a little extra time with his favourite teacher. He’d always thought, despite his attempts to participate in class, that Mr. Wilson didn’t like him very much. How wrong he’d clearly been.

  He winced at the unpleasant stickiness inside his boxers and decided to take a shower. After Mr. Wilson had helped him clear up the worst of the mess he’d made, he’d suggested Peter leave before the school janitors arrived. Peter had gone without question, as much as he’d wanted to interrogate Mr. Wilson about . . . well, everything. He knew what they’d just done was highly illegal – Mr. Wilson was his teacher, he himself was underage by the laws of the state – but somehow that just fed more fuel to the thrilling fire burning in the pit of his stomach. There was something so taboo about what they’d just done that he knew it was going to be their treasured secret to keep. If anyone found out, Mr. Wilson would be fired, possibly incarcerated. Peter knew it was wrong, but not one atom of him cared.

  He washed the remaining evidence of their encounter down the drain and stood beneath the hot spray far longer than was necessary, running every moment through his head again and again. He’d jerked off before, of course he had, but it had never felt like that. Was it because it was someone else doing it, or simply because it was Mr. Wilson? His head felt full to bursting point, and his lower lip was sore from where his teeth had been biting into it.

  He contemplated the extent of Mr. Wilson’s feelings towards him. Surely it must be a strong attraction or else he wouldn’t risk his job and reputation in such a way, but maybe he was giving the teacher too much credit. For all he knew, this was something he did all the time, and students just never mentioned it. He knew he never would, for fear of something so exquisite being taken away from him. He decided he didn’t care if he was one of many, if he could still _be_ one of many.

  He dried himself and dressed in a pair of comfy sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, collapsing onto his bed and staring blankly at the ceiling. All his thoughts were on tomorrow, and what would happen when they saw each other again. He rolled over and his eyes fell on the collection of misshapen metal shapes that littered his desk. It had taken him seven attempts to work the silver-plated copper into a shape that even vaguely resembled an apple, and now Mr. Wilson wore it as a pendant. He’d thought his heart might burst with pride when he’d seen that.

  He pulled one of his pillows between his arms and clutched it hard against his chest, burying his face in the material.

  “Wade,” he whispered, testing the name on his tongue. It felt like handling gold with dirty hands, like he was unworthy even to speak it. “Wade.”

 

*

 

Wade had no idea how he made it through that night without completely losing his sanity over the knowledge of what had just happened. Okay, so it wasn’t the thorough ravishing he’d always envisioned, but he would take it _very_ nicely, thank you very much.

  He lay back in his bathtub, bubbles up to his chin, staring at the swirls in the ceiling’s plaster. Everything in the world seemed ten times more fascinating, every sound sweeter, though he doubted that anything would ever measure up to those heavenly, sinfully beautiful sounds his student had made that evening.

  He knew there was a good chance that his phone would ring any minute and the furious voice of his boss – Principle Nicholas J. Fury – would be screaming down the line at him that he was fired, finished, off to prison, but he fancied himself safe for now. Peter had seemed entranced, captivated with wonder, when he’d been finally let up off the desk. He’d not seemed frightened or angry, which Wade was thankful for. While he would openly confess what others wouldn’t for fear of public reprisals – that the thought of having someone completely at his mercy, unable to protest or fight back, gave him an evil-minded boner – he would rather Peter be a willing participant in this exciting new game they were now playing together. He wanted to see Peter’s face flushed with pleasure, not twisted in fear, cringing away from him. He closed his eyes and painted that image in his mind; imagined how it would feel to kiss that mouth, taste that sweet tongue, to feel those coral-pink lips around him as he threaded his fingers through that silky hair . . .

  It had been less than an hour since he’d come inside his last pair of clean work pants, but his hand still found its way back to the scene of the crime, the water splashing around him as he coaxed another, slightly less powerful, orgasm from deep inside.

  He couldn’t deny that he was – dare he say it – a little nervous to face Peter the next morning. He just hoped that, when he looked into those dark chocolate eyes, he wouldn’t see the revulsion or betrayal he feared would be waiting for him.

  He said nothing to reveal himself as he sat astride Cable’s bike the next morning. He dismissed his colleague’s observations that he looked half-dead by insisting he’d been up knitting socks for underprivileged hamsters and the grizzled biker simply sighed in exasperation.

  There was no indication when he walked through the classroom door that anything was amiss; no accusatory stares, no pointing fingers – just dumb teenagers gossiping and laughing like every day. Even Peter looked so normal, Wade was almost tempted to think he’d dreamt the whole encounter, were it not to the dark stain he’d had to sponge from the inside of his pants last night. When he called attendance, there was no indication from Peter’s usual, “Here,” to suggest he was suffering from trauma. It was only when the kids were filing out for first period that anything seemed different at all.

  “Meet you there,” he heard Peter say to Leeds, and felt an unpleasantly childish swoop in his stomach. He refused to be intimidated by a sixteen-year-old, no matter how tight his ass was.

  “Something I can help you with, Mr. Parker?” he said casually as Leeds left the room, leaving them alone.

  “Yes,” Peter said. He was wearing a well-fitting blue shirt today – collarless, with a low V-neck that displayed the flawless skin of his chest.

  “Come on, spit it out,” he tried to sound brusque, but since Peter was smiling directly at him, it came out as somewhat choked. Shit, he’d started off so cool, as well.

  “That’s what I’m hoping to avoid, sir,” Peter dropped his backpack by the side of the desk and walked slowly around to stand right next to Wade.

  “Oh?” Wade rested his chin in his hand, regaining a small amount of his composure. Peter placed both hands on the arms of his chair and wheeled him backwards, far enough away from the desk that he could duck down and kneel inside the alcove where Wade’s legs would normally be. He thanked whatever deity might have been listening (and possibly preparing to smite him with a lightning bolt) that he didn’t have a class first period. Wade watched with dumb disbelief, and unsurpassable satisfaction, as Peter rather clumsily unzipped his pants and began massaging the bulge in his shorts. He felt a twisted sense of pride in the kid as his dick began to grow, responding quicker to Peter’s touch than any other it had yet encountered.

  “I want to be a good boy for you, sir,” Peter said in a small voice. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but . . . I’ve never done this before.”

  He was so pure, so innocent, Wade would have almost felt bad for deflowering him in such a manner were it not such a delectable concept.

  “It’s okay,” Wade re-enacted his fantasy and ran the fingers of his right hand through Peter’s hair – it was as satin-soft as he remembered, as he’d imagined. “I’ll guide you through it – that’s what teachers are for, right?”

  Peter grinned apologetically up at him and, taking a deep breath, pulled aside the material of Wade’s shorts. His slim-fingers hands made his cock look even bigger by comparison as they worked up and down the shaft, unsure or where to settle or what to do.

  “Here,” Wade said, leading Peter’s fingers to the base. “Wrap around that, not too tight, and gently – gently – twist your wrist up and down.”

  Peter did exactly as instructed and moved forwards, gearing up for the next stage. Wade wanted to pause his progress, to ask if he was sure he wanted to do this, but goddamn it, he wanted it so desperately, he just couldn’t bring himself to break the spell.

  The moment his lips touched Wade’s dick, it was like the first steps of sinking into a warm bath. His body became a jangle of nerves, all glowing with the sheer pleasure of what was happening down below. Peter’s skills were new, unpractised, but what he lacked in experience he more than made up for in enthusiasm. He bobbed his head dutifully up and down with minimal help from Wade, pausing at intervals to swirl his tongue around the head. A deep, carnal part of Wade’s soul wanted to grab his head and mouth-fuck him into a coughing, dribbling mess. It was almost overpowering.

  “Baby . . .” he muttered, teeth clenched, as Peter slavered over him, the warm wetness like something from a long-forgotten dream. Peter’s lips were stretched beautifully wide, the cavern of his mouth only just deep enough to swallow Wade down halfway, the lower half still being gently stimulated by his hand. It was too perfect, just as Wade had wished would happen, what he’d prayed for in his darkest dreams. This sweet, young, innocent boy, on his knees, sucking his dick like it was his life’s mission. The sheer corruption of it was enough to send him crazy. His heart was pounding, the breath catching in his throat.

  “ _Fuck_.”

  Losing all sense of control, he gripped Peter’s hair in both hands and began thrusting upwards into his mouth, the deep, wet gagging this desperate act elicited from his throat like a symphony of lust in his ears. Peter moved his hands from the base of Wade’s cock to his thighs, but he didn’t pull back, nor could Wade feel any resistance suggesting he needed to do so. He took it like a porn star for a good thirty seconds, before his gag reflex got the better of him and he tugged away, coughing and spluttering, webs of spit hanging from his lips and chin. He looked rough, ravaged, sexy as all fucking hell. Before Wade could ask if he was alright, he pinned Wade’s hips to the chair (he was surprisingly strong for such a skinny kid) and suctioned his lips right back onto his dick. This time, he orchestrated his own throat-fuck, moving his head back and forth like a piston down Wade’s length, using his saliva to keep his movements smooth and steady. Wade could feel himself nearing climax, that familiar bright fire starting to flicker at the root of his cock.

  “Pete . . . I’m gonna cum, kid . . . I’m gonna . . .”

  Peter simply moaned his ascent round him and that was it. Wade shoved his knuckles into his mouth, cumming with a deep growl as he throbbed and spurted hot seed into Peter’s mouth and down his throat. Peter, rather unceremoniously, spat the majority of it out of his mouth into his palm.

  “That tastes awful,” he panted with a weak laugh.

  “Yeah, it does,” Wade stroked the side of his face. “Looks good on you, though.”

  Peter grinned and wiped his mouth. “Least I didn’t have to remember Bosnian cities that time.”

  “Bad manners to talk with your mouth full,” Wade said, cupping Peter’s chin in his hand and giving it a tiny shake. “But since you brought it up, when did Britain declare war with Germany?”

  Peter blinked, nonplussed by the surprise quiz.

  “Come on,” Wade taunted. “Don’t make me punish you again, baby boy.”

  “Uhh . . .” the kid looked genuinely stumped. “June . . . 12th?”

  Wade shook his head in mock sadness. “Tch tch, Peter. You obviously haven’t been listening to me at all. Not only that, but you’re currently playing truant from Ms. Barrister’s class. That’s bad behaviour, Peter, and what do bad boys get?”

  “Punished,” Peter whispered.

  “That’s right,” Wade pushed his thumb past Peter’s lips and onto his tongue, feeling the rough scrape of his white, even teeth against the skin. “What d’you think would be an appropriate punishment for such behaviour?”

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t know, sir,” he said around the digit in his mouth.

  “Then I’ll have to decide.” Wade scooted back on his chair and, fixing his hands under Peter’s arms, hoisted him out from the alcove and up onto the desk. “I want you to take off your clothes and lie back.”

  He pulled the blind down once more and made sure the lock was surely fastened. It was one thing to do this when everyone had left; doing it this time in the morning could be considered suicide, though the idea gave him a thrill nonetheless.

  Peter had obediently removed his pants and sweater, sneakers and socks, but his boxers remained firmly in place. He sat gingerly on the desk, shifting on the cold surface.

  “Peter,” Wade said sternly. “I said take off your clothes.”

  The boy dropped his eyes to his feet, swinging an inch above the ground. “I’m not as big as you, sir.”

  “I know,” Wade removed his jacket, laying it over a nearby chair, and folded his muscly arms.

  Still avoiding eye contact, Peter pushed down his boxers and stepped out of them, nudging them to one side. He was about as big as Wade had judged from the feel of him in his hand, a thin patch of dark hair just starting to grow in around his crotch. His body was slender as a colt, pale as marble, and exactly as Wade had always fantasised it would be. He sat back down on his desk chair and moved towards Peter, tugging his body gently round to face him.

  “Fuck,” he sighed appreciatively. “Where d’you get off being so damn beautiful, kid?”

  Peter blushed and gave a small shriek as Wade pushed him down onto the desk. “How’re you going to punish me, sir?” he asked tentatively.

  “So impatient,” Wade smirked. He set his hands around Peter’s narrow waist and ducked his head down to meet the tip of his dick with his mouth. Peter gasped like a drowning man breaching the surface and thrashed his fists against the desk.

  “Shhh,” Wade warned, and Peter clapped both hands over his mouth, just the sweetest of tortured mumbles escaping. His dick was small enough that Wade could fit the entirety of it in his mouth without too much gag control, and he lavished attention onto it. Replacing his mouth with one hand, he kept Peter stimulated and looked up towards his exquisitely flushed face.

  “Now,” he said, “When did Britain declare war against Germany?”

  “O-ohhh . . .” Peter almost sounded like he was sobbing. “I don’t know . . .”

  Wade abruptly removed his hand and Peter gave an agonised whine at the loss. “Please, sir—”

  “Only good boys who answer questions correctly get rewards,” Wade said, as though explaining simple mathematics.

  “I don’t _know_ ,” Peter sounded distraught, so Wade decided to take pity on him.

  “Okay, just this once,” he gave Peter’s cock a firm lick from base to tip and felt a great shiver rack his young body. “When did the Battle of the Somme begin?”

  Peter laughed in almost hysterical joy. “July 1st! July 1st, 1916!”

  Wade dropped back down and took Peter’s cock in his mouth once more. The boy writhed and moaned, lips clamped firmly shut, the tips of his fingers drumming like Morse code on the top of Wade’s head. He grinned to himself and combined his mouth with his favoured twisting-hand technique at the base. He knew Peter wouldn’t last long – he was unlikely to have experienced anything like this before, and Christ Wade remembered how mind-blowingly fantastic it had been the first time he’d received it. He could feel the boy’s smooth thighs trembling and sensed he was close. He completely enveloped Peter’s cock until the head brushed the back of this throat, then brought his finger down to trace the line between the boy’s ass and balls, pressing down on the spot right beneath the sack. Peter came almost instantly, and Wade gulped down the aftermath, his experienced tongue accustomed to the bitter taste. He relished every drop.

  He allowed Peter to come down slowly, feeling the vibrations of his thumping heart all the way through his body.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Peter murmured. Wade wiped the corner of his mouth and sat back, surveying the masterpiece of debauched beautiful in front of him.

  “What for?”

  “I couldn’t . . . answer the question.”

  Wade smiled. Then, donning an expression of total severity, he leaned over the boy’s quivering body, his hands either side of his head.

  “Then don’t disappoint me next time.”

  Peter lifted a hand and trailed his fingers down the line of Wade’s jaw, setting the skin he touched aflame with desire. “I won’t, sir. I promise.”

  Wade wanted to kiss him, to ravage that sweet mouth the way he’d devastated the boy’s purity, but he didn’t want their first kiss to be laced with the taste of cum. There were so many more enjoyable flavours to enjoy. He pressed an ironically chaste kiss to Peter’s forehead, then stood up straight.

  “Get dressed,” he said. “I’ll make your excuses to Ms. Barrister later.”

  Peter sat up and hopped down from the desk, starting to pull his shirt and pants back on. He stepped hastily into his shoes, leaving the laces untied, and bent down to pick up his backpack. On a whim, Wade reached out and delivered a sharp smack to the boy’s backside, earning a surprised yelp in response.

  Wade chuckled. “Atta boy”

  Peter grinned broadly – such a bright, sunny smile that it blew the remaining cobwebs clear from Wade’s heart.

  Some hours later, he was standing in line in the school cafeteria, waiting for whatever grease-soaked delight was being served, when he felt a bump against his left side. There was Peter, tray already laden with food. Without a word, he slipped a folded piece of paper onto Wade’s tray and scuttled off to where his friends were waiting at a table. Wade tucked the piece of paper into his pocket and accepted what might have been beef casserole, before taking his own place at the faculty table in the corner. He took out the paper and unfolded it.

  _4 th August, 1914._

  The year Britain declared war with Germany. Wade put the note back in his pocket and focused on his lunch, a bigger smile on his face than such a culinary atrocity deserved.

  _That sexy little fucker_.

 

*

 

Peter had been swimming lengths in the school gymnasium pool since the janitor had opened the doors at seven-thirty, and was closing in on fifty when he realised there was somebody watching him from behind the glass some thirty feet above. The school had recently refurbished the entire sports centre, extending access to paying members of the public, which meant it was also open to any student who wished to exercise before classes started.

  Or any teacher.

  The studio that housed the work-out machines and weights was built overlooking the pool. He didn’t know for how long Mr. Wilson had been watching him swim, but there was no mistaking who it was staring down, admiring him. His heart leapt and he smiled nervously up at his lover; the idea of referring to the tall, handsome, muscular man as such flushing his skin like ink in water. Wade gave a slow, smug grin and a tiny twitch with his head in the direction of the gymnasium showers. Peter swum to the shallows and walked slowly towards the locker room, allowing his teacher a perfect view of his smooth skin, the way his swim-shorts clung to the curve of his ass-cheeks.

  He’d never considered the possibility that he might be sexually attractive to guys. Girls had occasionally called him ‘cute’, but in the same way they might call a puppy. Not that he cared about that – his interested in girls had been firmly obliterated the first time he’d seen Tony Stark in a copy of Time magazine – but it had concerned him that no guy was going to want to date him if they saw him as a little kid. Okay, so he was only sixteen, but there were guys in his grade who looked years older – guys who were taller, better-looking, and more athletic than he was. It was nothing short of a miracle that Mr. Wilson had chosen _him_ and, while he might not understand why, he wasn’t going to question a second of it.

  There were two sets of shower cubicles in the sports centre – one for the public, and the other for students. The student block was noticeably inferior, with no doors or even partitions separating the stalls. Because of this, and because of what he suspected was to happen shortly, Peter was relieved to find the room empty. He removed his shorts and hung them over one of the heated racks, next to his towel. Turning the water heat up high, he stepped underneath one of the shower heads, the automatic sensor detecting his presence and activating the spray. He closed his eyes and rinsed the chlorine out of his hair, ears pricked for the sound of footsteps echoing off the tiled walls. After five minutes, he was starting to wonder if he’d read Mr. Wilson’s intentions wrong and about to abandon the shower, when he heard the outer door swing open.

  He froze, his body trembling despite the steam rising around him, and waited. He could hear a deep, male voice humming a tuneless melody, but couldn’t tell over the sound of the pipes if it was Mr. Wilson – dare he call him ‘Wade’? – or not. He turned to face the wall, washing the last of the cheap shampoo out of his hair, and felt a set of long fingers wrap around his waist.

  “Gotcha.”

  A shiver ran down his spine at the deep, sensual voice curling into his ear like smoke. He turned in Wade’s arms and allowed himself to be pinned bodily against the cool tiles. Wade’s knee pushed between Peter’s legs, the strong thigh muscle rubbing against his cock and balls, softly enough not to hurt, but with enough clear intent to set his nerves jangling. Wade’s hands found his wrists and brought them up, pinioning them beside his ears. The shower, sensing it was no longer required, ceased the flow of water and an echoey silence filled the room, both males straining for the sound of any further company. When none came, Wade lowered his head, bridging the seven inches of height difference between them, and touched his lips to Peter’s.

  Peter’s soul lit up like a solar flare. They shouldn’t be doing this, he knew, _couldn’t_ be doing this – it was illegal, immoral, _wrong_ – but knowing that only made the kiss taste sweeter. He wanted to wrap his arms around the older man, run his fingers through his hair, but Wade held him fast against the wall. His mouth opened wide and Peter gaped to copy him, allowing his mouth to be ravaged by Wade’s lips and tongue, their saliva combining with the water tricking down from his hair. His first kiss, and he felt like the top of his head was about to explode from the passion of it. Wade softened his touch and, releasing Peter’s wrists, cradled his head between his large hands. He slid one arm down the boy’s damp body, his fingers settling in the gentle hollow at the small of his back, and Peter allowed his neck to be tilted sideways. Wade bit and sucked at the pale skin of his throat, and he felt his breath shudder in his windpipe as it entered his lungs, his insides writhing like excitable snakes.

  Wade’s long middle finger strayed further downward, tracing the cleft of his ass with almost apologetic tenderness. Peter’s whole body tensed as he felt the digit’s tip press lightly against his hole, but it didn’t enter. Wade weaved his other hand through Peter’s hair, kissing and suckling at his neck and earlobe, circling round the puckered ring of muscle with intricate delicacy until he felt his limbs slowly relax.

  “Turn around,” Wade said, the sudden vibration of his voice in Peter’s ear making him jump. He obediently rotated until he was facing the wall. Guided by Wade’s touch, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tiles and the side of his face against his forearms. Wade ran the palm of his hand down the boy’s back, pressing down so his hips dropped and his ass stuck out. He waved a hand over the sensor and let the warm water cascade down over Peter’s back and buttocks, lubricating the desired entrance further with a palmful of his own spit.

  It felt good, _so_ good, to be touched like this, by such a person as Wade, but the tediously logical part of Peter’s mind was hastily sounding the panic button. Aside from the practicality that he still had a full day of school to sit through, the idea of having Wade unsheathed inside him, cumming inside him, was a frightening prospect. 

  “Sir,” he almost whispered, scarcely audible over the running water. “Are you going to . . . to go . . . inside? Your . . .”

  Wade reached around the slight, slender body and began to gently massage the boy’s penis, already halfway to full rigidity, and Peter gasped.

  “Not yet, baby boy,” Wade murmured, and Peter felt him smile against the crook of his shoulder. “Appetizer before the entrée.”

  Peter moaned as the long digit penetrated him. It was too slippery to hurt, but the sensation was certainly stimulating. He’d touched himself down there before, but his fingers were so much shorter and thinner than Wade’s. Wade had a man’s hands. He began to slowly insert and withdraw the finger in rhythmic time to the speed at which he was jerking him off. Lightly clenched fist went down, finger went in; fist went up, finger pulled out. The feeling of being entered and stroked simultaneously was almost indescribable, made only more intense when he felt the second finger at his hole. He whined at the bite of stretching pain that followed the intrusion and Wade slowed his pace.

  “No,” he protested, pushing his hips back into Wade’s touch. “Don’t stop . . .”

  He could feel Wade’s hard cock rubbing against his ass cheek, and broke his stance to reach a hand behind, fingers fumbling inexpertly. He knew he wasn’t going to last long; he could feel pleasure brewing at the root of his cock, Wade’s touch stretching so far as to brush something deep inside, something that was sending hot sparks of electricity down the backs of his thighs, paling to a humming glow as it trickled to the soles of his feet. Wade’s speed was quickening, Peter’s desperate gestures of devotion feeling clumsy in comparison. His orgasm washed over him like molasses, thick and darkly sweet, clinging to his nerves and drowning them in immeasurable bliss.

  His head fell forward, bumping against the wall, and he watched Wade’s fingers milking every drop of release from him. When he removed his fingers from his ass, he felt loose, empty; yet still with an echo of Wade’s touch.

  “You . . . you didn’t get to cum, sir,” he breathed, his fingers brushing the tip of Wade’s still-erect cock.

  “That’s true,” Wade removed his hand from Peter’s crotch and used it to turn the boy’s face right, stealing another breath-taking kiss. “Tell you what – answer my question and I might forgive you.”

  Peter’s stomach dropped. More historical dates? He pulled a face and Wade chuckled, nipping his earlobe with his teeth.

  “What’re you doing tonight?”

 

*

 

Wade knew it was a risk giving Peter his home address. If anyone found out, it would mean goodbye to his job, and hello to the sex offenders register. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t deserve it, but if he had to choose . . .

  He’d contemplated simply continuing the charade of Peter’s after-school tutoring, but if there was even the slightest chance (and he was praying to every morally-dubious deity that there was) that he’d be finally sampling little Petey’s cherry pie, he didn’t want it to be on a school desk. Not the first time, anyway. And this _was_ Peter’s first time. Wade might have a moral compass that would make Edward Teach look like Mother Teresa, but even he had respect for the delicacy such a sacrifice deserved.

  He’d spent the time waiting for his student to arrive clearing up as much of the empty takeout boxes and trash-bags as possible, and making his bedroom look less like an iniquitous den that screamed ‘give me your virginity you delectable little twink’. What did normal people do to increase the romance of this kind of situation? Candles? Incense? Hide the handcuffs?

  His stomach leapt like an excited schoolgirl’s when he heard the doorbell. He wondered if Peter had marched straight up and rung it, or if he’d hesitated, shifting from foot to foot before taking courage by the balls. Either way, he was here.

 

*

 

Peter had been standing on Wade’s front steps for almost ten minutes. Never before had a door inspired such fear yet looked so devastatingly inviting.

  It had taken him roughly about fifty years to decide what to wear that evening. After their tryst in the showers, when Wade had given Peter his home address, he’d seen the truth in the invitation – if he walked through that door, it could be his last night as a virgin. He trusted Wade enough to know that, were he to seriously freak out, the older man would have the respect and understanding to let him leave, but that wasn’t the point. Whether or not they went through with the deed or not, ringing that bell was the confirmation that he _wanted_ to. And he did want to – badly. Eventually, he’d decided on his newest black jeans, a tight T-shirt and the soft grey sweater he knew hugged his waistline perfectly.

  He’d taken the precautions necessary to ensure, were their desires to be realised, that the ride would be as smooth as the internet said it would. He felt a sharp stab of envy for male-female couples – unless their tastes deviated from the norm, they would never know the unromantic task of . . . cleaning the guestroom, to use a more savoury turn of expression. This was no kids’ game, for sure.

  With his insides feeling like they were playing host to a band of tap-dancing porcupines, he pressed the bell.

 

*

 

The electric charge of expectation was already crackling between them when Wade opened the door. This was it.

  “Found it okay?” Wade said, sticking to the script assigned to all hosts when entertaining a new guest. He could see the boy’s fists clenched inside the pockets of his jacket. Wade stepped aside and allowed Peter into the narrow kitchen. Peter politely removed his shoes and tucked them below the hook Wade used to hang his jacket from. His first instinct was to offer him a drink – the kind with a capital D – but perhaps it was best to break only one law at a time. He poured a glass of water and Peter gulped it gratefully. Wade was conflicted – the domineering side of his brain (the part with a direct highway to his dick) wanted to rip the boy’s clothes off and have him there on the tile floor, but the quarter that was reluctantly responsible knew he had to check he was okay with it. His morals were loose enough that he’d bang a teenager, but he wouldn’t touch a full-grown adult with a bargepole if they were unwilling. There were standards to be kept.

  Taking the empty glass from Peter’s hand, he set it down next to the sink and held his pretty face between his hands. Peter sighed dreamily and curled his fingers in the fabric of Wade’s shirt.

  “Yes?” Wade said. Peter nodded.

  Wade bent down and scooped him up beneath the thighs. He gave a delighted shriek and wrapped his legs dutifully around his teacher’s waist, arms looped loosely around his neck. Wade squeezed his pert ass cheeks through the stiff denim, slipping his fingers beneath the upper clothing to touch that satin-soft skin.

  The kiss was hungry and feverish, the clash of teeth and erratic pace once again betraying Peter’s inexperience. Wade didn’t care – Peter was his student; it was his job to educate him. He slowed the movement of his lips, one hand cradling the back of Peter’s head. He tasted sweet, like spearmint gum. Taking care not to bash the boy’s knees or elbows on the doorframe, he carried him through to the living-room and sat down on the couch, the springs sagging under their joined weight. Wade slid Peter’s legs easily either side of his hips, his ass pressed against the erection whimpering to be let out of the older man’s pants. There was no sound in the room save for the frantic gasping of breath, each mouth consuming the other like starving animals, and the whispered friction of clothing sliding together – the melody of secret lovers.

  Both sets of hands worked at the zips of their partner’s jeans, unbuttoning boxers and seeking the hard flesh within. Their wrists bumped together, Wade large hand almost covering Peter’s cock completely, the boy’s fingers barely touching around the girth of his. They broke the kiss; foreheads meeting, breath mingling, lost in the aura of each other.

  “Sir . . .” Peter murmured huskily. His voice felt half-asleep, blanketed in desire.

  “Mm?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Wade’s mouth flickered in a stifled grin. Simple boy – the fun was just beginning. He pinched Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, staring into his dark eyes. How had he never noticed the flecks of green dancing in them?

  “You’re ready when I say you are,” he said, tone brushed with his ‘teacher voice’.

  “Yes, sir,” came the meek reply.

  Wade broke their embrace and deposited Peter on the floor, appreciating the way his knees almost gave way.

  “Take off your sweater,” he ordered.

  Peter went to obey.

  “Ah!” Wade held up a finger, freezing him in place. “Slowly.”

  The boy gradually removed his sweater, taking the initiative and pulling his shirt off with it. Wade leaned back against the cushions and admired the ruffled hair, the blushing cheeks, the youthful muscles waiting to be born from inside the adolescent body. Give it three years, the kid would evolve from Ganymede to Adonis.

  “Pants.”

  Peter pushed his jeans down, kicking them to one side. Wade’s eyes raked down his slim, smooth legs, the first traces of dark hair collaring his shins. He was caught in that in-between stage of youth – all awkward gestures and undefined edges, barely three years above an angelic Lolita-esque child. He realised he was staring, almost critically, and Peter shifted bashfully from foot to foot.

  “Yes?”

  He smiled at his own question, targeted back at him.

  “Oh yes, baby boy,” he eyed the line of hair trailing down from Peter’s naval. “Very much yes.”

  Peter removed the final barrier – his boxers – and finally stood naked before him. Even though they’d been naked in the shower, this felt different; like Peter was baring more than just his body. His soul, his heart – all laid at Wade’s feet like an offering of adoration. This was him surrendering entirely to his master’s will.

  “Kneel down.”

  Peter dropped to the floor at once. Wade felt a rush of satisfaction at the power his command seemed to hold over the boy. Rising to his feet, he removed his shirt and moved, half-naked, towards where Peter was sitting.

  “Touch yourself.”

  Peter began to stroke his cock, his fingers moving far more nimbly now they were back on familiar ground. Wade pulled open his fly wide enough for his own genitals to be fully visible. He lifted Peter’s chin, keeping their gaze connected, and slipped his middle and forefingers over his bottom lip.

  “Suck,” he ordered.

  The boy’s tongue slicked against the roughened skin, his lips forming a vacuum around Wade’s digits and quickly soaking them with spit. Wade lowered himself to Peter’s level, knees on the ground, his tall body still upright.

  Reading the cue being presented to him, Peter dropped onto all fours. Wade withdrew his fingers and watched as Peter, with mesmerising slowness, took the hard rod of flesh into his mouth. Wade sighed, basking in the sudden envelopment of hot velvet. He added his own saliva to the fingers already slick with Peter’s and bent over, teasing the hole he was going to be worshipping that night. Peter mewed and leaned back against the tantalising pressure. Wade slipped his middle finger inside, relishing the way the muscled clamped down against the sudden invasion. Then, giving Peter only just enough time to adjust, the other. He knew being touched like this was a whole new board-game compared to how they’d done it last time. Without the added lubrication of running water, the friction would be more than this boy had ever experienced. He pulled his fingers out almost to the tips, then pushed them inside again, rocking Peter forward so his lips slid further down Wade’s cock. They repeated this action ten or eleven times, until he could feel the muscle start to loosen. It would be no fun for either of them if he wasn’t ready, and Wade felt responsible to ensure that he was. He’d waited for long enough to have his way with this perfect creature of God or Satan (whoever was in the business of creating such sinful, intoxicating beauty), and he didn’t want to break his toy the first time he played with it.

  Slowly, gently, so as not to break the spell, Wade rose to his feet, beckoning his fingers within Peter’s asshole so he rose with him; like a dark, sexual puppet-master. Fingers still inside, he led his quarry to the bedroom, only releasing him from their bond once the door was closed.

  “On the bed,” he instructed, pulling down his pants and undershorts and discarding them in a corner, quickly forgotten.

  “Back or front, sir?” he sounded nervous, but his voice was steady. Wade considered.

  “Back.” He wanted to see that face, that exquisite face he’d lusted after for so many months, when he came. When _he_ came inside him, marking him forever as his first.

 

*

 

Peter lay down, unsure of what to do with his limbs. His heart was dancing inside him, his blood coursing through his veins like fire, his brain still asking: ‘Is this real?’. He watched Wade pick up a condom and tube of lubricant from the cluttered desk, dropping them on the mattress beside Peter’s supine body. He was ready for this – wanted it so badly – but he was also terrified. It would hurt, he knew that, but what if it was more than that? What if he regretted it? What if, after it was done, he found he couldn’t live without it? Without Wade?

  Wade crawled across the bed towards him, his strong, muscular body caging Peter like a predator advancing on its prey. Their lips met again, slowly this time; soft.

  “Yes?” Wade whispered.

  “Please,” Peter whispered back. “Oh, please.”

  “Do you want me?”

  “Yes. God . . . more than anything. Please, sir—”

  “Wade.”

  “Wade,” Peter wrapped his arms around his teacher’s neck, the cavity of his chest surely too small to contain his wild heart.

  At the sound of his name spoken from Peter’s lips, Wade captured them with a fierce passion – almost desperation – that stole the breath right out of his lungs.

  “I’ve wanted this,” he murmured into Peter’s mouth, “since the first moment I saw you.”

  Peter wanted to cry. This couldn’t be real; nothing this perfect could be.

  Wade moved down Peter’s body; kissing, licking, biting, sucking, until he reached the southernmost point. He shrugged his shoulders under Peter’s thighs, gently curling his spine upward so his asshole was exposed to the air. Peter realised what he meant to do and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and gasping as he felt the warm tip of Wade’s tongue lick around him, over him, _inside_ him.

  “Oh . . . oh . . .” he could do nothing more than whimper and fret; with pleasure at the sensation of being tasted _so_ intimately, and with shame at being so totally visible, with no means of protection or camouflage.

  Then it was gone. He opened his eyes and saw his lover shifting into position; his legs still hoisted up, the crooks of his knees resting on Wade’s shoulders. He watched, struck dumb by fear and lust and anticipation, as Wade rolled the condom onto himself and coated it with lube. He smeared more onto Peter’s hole, the gel starkly cold in comparison to that warm, wonderful tongue it had just been acquainted with.

  “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  It was slow at first, centimetre by centimetre, inch by inch, and so deliciously painful that Peter’s brow was soon slick with sweat. To be stretched like this, to be breached, to be _taken_ ; it was more than he could handle. He whimpered and moaned, wanting to give himself entirely to the man he desired so, but still fighting that barrier of pain.

  “Hey,” Wade’s voice was low, constricted. “Breathe.” He ran a hand across Peter’s chest, thumbing at his nipples, seeking the pulse point in his neck like a lifeline. “Breathe.”

  He inhaled deeply, as steadily as he could. His body was resisting, panicking at the strange intrusion, but his heart was pleading – _begging_ – for more. After what seemed like hours, he felt the tickle of hair, the soft pressure of Wade’s hips against his ass cheeks, and knew he had passed the first test.

  “Okay . . .?” Wade’s voice was taut with barely sustained control.

  “Uh . . . uh-huh,” Peter nodded, trying to remember his own name.

  “Wanna keep going?”

  Peter glared at him, not wanting the moment to be shattered. He pulled his hips back as far as they would go, already pinned to the mattress, and thrust them forward again. It was like the brutal scratch of a mosquito bite; when anything, even pain, is preferable to the unbearable itch.

  “Fuck!” Wade’s pupils flared wide and dark as tunnels. “Christ, kid.”

  “Move.” Now it was Peter’s turn to demand.

  As slowly as he had entered, Wade withdrew, almost completely, before sheathing himself again in the holy scabbard of Peter’s body. He’d never imagined feeling so _full_ , all his escape routes blocked, all paths diverted. How had he been so empty for so long? Little by little, Wade increased speed, every successful re-entry like a victory; one step closer to the prize. Peter began to feel a deep, earthy pleasure building inside him, something that had been waiting for years to be woken by Wade’s cock. His own was oozing pre-cum, dripping like a leaky faucet. He thought the end would soon come, for one of them, when he was suddenly hoisted into the air and the sensation donned an entirely new mask. With Wade standing, arms hooked under Peter’s legs to keep him aloft, the force of his thrusts was increased, aided by gravity. He bounced on Wade’s cock, a bolt of pleasure striking him every time the tip hit its mark – that sweet spot deep inside. His head swam, his heart sang, bliss rising like a tide; it was too much, too much, _too much_ . . .

 

*

 

Wade was close.

  The friction against his cock and the exquisite expressions flickering across Peter’s face was too much for him to keep pace. He could feel his thrusts becoming more desperate, erratic, fire burning low in his loins. This close, he could make out the tiny freckles scattered like stars across Peter’s nose, veiled by a sweet rosy blush. The boy’s fingernails were digging into his back, the needle-prick pain reminding him that this wasn’t a dream; this was real, so real, and he was never, never letting this boy go. He would sacrifice everything – his job, his sanity – just to stay in this small piece of Heaven for the rest of his life, or even just the rest of that night.

  “Wade,” Peter gasped. “I want . . . you . . .”

  “You have me, baby,” Wade grunted, jerking sharply upwards. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Peter shook his head in something close to distress. “No . . .” he raked his slim fingers through Wade’s short hair and stared into his eyes. Wade slowed, the rising levels of promised ecstasy dropping below the breakwaters.

  “D’you want to stop?” he asked, feeling rather like the oxytocin in his brain had been replaced by barbed wire.

  In response, Peter locked their lips together, and Wade felt the anxiety dissolve. When they pulled apart, Peter moved his lips close to Wade’s ear and whispered: “I want you to come inside me, sir.”

  Wade almost came from those words alone but managed to restrain himself. He cupped the side of the boy’s face, his heart fluttering at the way he leaned into his touch. “You sure?”

  A better man than he might have put up more objection – might have insisted Peter wasn’t ready for that – but he was an immoral, lecherous bastard and fuck it, he wanted to come inside that tight young body. He pulled out of Peter’s ass and practically dropped him on the bed in his haste to remove the rubber from his dick. He rolled Peter onto his front and lifted his hips off the mattress a little. There was little resistance upon re-entry, and the hot, velveteen lining of Peter’s ass around his already-sensitive length felt so incredible he could almost feel his sanity breaking from the sheer perfection of it. He smothered the boy’s back with his torso, wrapping one arm around his chest, being careful not to choke him, and let all inhibition fly merrily out the window. The _slap-slap-slap_ of skin against skin harmonised with the muffled cries and moans of pleasure. Wade peppered his young lover’s neck and cheek with kisses, Peter straining his neck in desperation to reciprocate. A hasty shuffle of position saw the kid on his back once more, his legs held up in Wade’s grip, his fingers clawing at the broad shoulders as though terrified they’d soon be pulled away.

  “Oh God, sir,” his breathing was close to hyperventilating with the speed at which his master was pounding into him. “Sir . . . Wade, Wade . . . oh God, I love you, I love you . . .”

  Wade was nearly blinded by the sheer, unadulterated _ecstasy_ flying through his veins. It was almost _torturous_ , to be this close – oh _fuck_ , SO close – trying to make it last, never wanting it to end but still racing for the finish line. He grabbed the back of Peter’s head and crushed their bodies together, kissing him so ferociously it almost hurt. He wanted to say it back, wanted to tell the kid that this level of feeling couldn’t be summed up in one simple word – he needed him like his lungs needed oxygen, like birds needed the sky to soar in; if they stopped, if they never touched again, his whole body would shut down, his mind would cease to exist. But all he could do in that moment was gasp and kiss him, more, more, _more_ —

  There was no warning when he came. It crashed over them like a tidal wave, engulfing both in a white-hot blanket of fire. His cock pulsed and shuddered deep inside Peter – marking him, claiming him – pumped by the ripples of his ass as they orgasmed beautifully, miraculously, as one.

  He collapsed on top of Peter’s trembling body, the part of his brain that was still functioning taking care not to crush him. The kid was almost sobbing in the throes of such intensity, and Wade felt a glow of smugness – how was _that_ for a first time, hey, kid? They lay there – panting, sticky, chests thumping against each other – for a long, utopian moment. Wade felt like he could simultaneously run a hundred miles and sleep for a hundred years. He kissed his perfect, beautiful boy – adoring his lips, cheeks, eyes, nose, neck; anywhere that could be loved, was. And it _was_ love; the first step to it, in any case. The deep, sunshine glow radiating from his heart, cocooning them in an aura of bliss; every detail of Peter’s skin, every mark, every mole, each one the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen; every part of it serving as proof that what he felt was more than just desire now. Who would have guessed? He whispered it in Peter’s ear – everything he adored about him, everything he wanted to do with him, not just _to_ him. Peter listened, the sweetest of smiles dancing along his lips, and traced the lines and curves of his teacher’s face with the tip of his forefinger.

  “Do you love me, sir?” he said at last.

  Wade kissed him, his mind racing forward to the years to come. It was not going to be easy, he knew that for certain, and they would need to be careful. There were still two more years before Peter would leave school, for starters, and there was Cable, Principal Fury and Peter’s relatives to contend with. They’d have to keep it secret as best they could – stealing moments after class and glances across crowded rooms – theirs, and theirs alone. How marvellous it would be.

  “Yeah,” he ran his thumb down Peter’s cheek. “I reckon I do.”

  Peter nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder with a happy sigh. Then he looked up, a wicked glint in his eyes.

  “How does this improve my History grade, Mr. Wilson?”

  Wade laughed, tapping his young protégé across the nose.

  “When was the war officially ended?”

  “11th November, 1918. 11am.”

  Wade kissed him, translating all his passion and affection into it. “A-plus, Mr. Parker. Congratulations.”

  “Took long enough,” Peter smirked. “Finally got your attention – now I can stop pretending to get it wrong.”

  Wade stared, nonplussed. Guess he’d never had the upper hand after all.

  _Well,_ he thought as the boy pulled him down for more, _I can live with that._

     

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All and any comments are greatly appreciated ❤️


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